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Authors: Suzanne Weyn
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up watching everyone she ever loved murdered before she was also riddled with bullets?"
"How do you know these things?" Sergei asked.
"Because she was a girl and I was a girl. But why should I want this girl's life? Tell me!"
"It would be an easy life, a luxurious one," Ivan offered. "Anastasia had the most lavish existence imaginable! And what did it get her? What?" Nadya shouted through her tears. "You tell me why I should do this; for what possible reason should I want this Anastasia's wretched life?"
Overcome with emotion, Nadya couldn't stand to look at them; Sergei gazed at her, incredulous at her outburst, while Ivan had his back turned as though disgusted.
Nadya was seized with an overpowering need to get away from them. With tears clouding her vision, she ran into the forest, pushing aside branches from her path as she went. With no thought to staying on a course or noting her direction, she ran until her foot slipped on a loose rock and flew up, launching her forward.
Nadya is in a voluminous, floor-length white nightgown, padding barefoot down a dark hallway. Her hand is outstretched against the wall for guidance as she heads toward a brilliant beam of light coming from the room at the end of this hall. She stops just short of the light and peers into an ornate, high-ceilinged room of murals and opulent furniture abundantly trimmed in gold.
The king and queen of Russia, Czar Nicholas and Czarina Alexandra, stand in the middle of the room. Nadya has seen their photos many times and recognizes them immediately. She realizes she must be in the Imperial 85 Palace. How did she get in? Why is she in a nightgown?
The czar wears a white military-style jacket with golden braids and epaulets at the shoulders. He has on riding pants and boots, as though he might jump on a horse and ride off into battle at any moment. He has kind eyes. Alexandra is resplendent in a brocade cape lined with ermine fur, worn over a sparkling, full-length mauve gown.
The royal couple speaks to a large, hunched man in a filthy black cloak; he is a vile, ugly creature with a bulbous nose reddened from drinking and long, greasy black hair that clumps into sinewy tendrils. "I will not be dictated to!" he shouts, his tone threatening.
She knows who he is from newspaper photos--Grigory Rasputin! But Rasputin is dead.
All of them are dead. Is she seeing ghosts?
Then she reminds herself that she is in a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.
"We appreciate all you have done for our son, Father Grigory." Czar Nicholas speaks in a conciliatory way. "But I must insist that you keep a proper distance from the girls and their nursemaids from now on. Sura has complained that you come to do prayers with the girls when they are already in their nightgowns. They are not children anymore."
"Sura?" Rasputin questions.
"The girls' nurse," the czarina explains.
"Do you say this as well?" Father Grigory challenges her.
She cowers a little. "I know you are without blame," she says to soothe him, despite her obvious uneasiness, "but you visit the grand duchesses in their bedchambers when they 86 are not dressed to receive company, and it causes talk."
"Let them talk! The name of Grigory Rasputin is known throughout Russia!" he bellows with rapturous grandiosity. "Everywhere, I am known as a holy man and mystic! You have seen my powers for yourself. I shall go back to St. Petersburg if I am not wanted."
"No!" the czarina cries. "You must not!"
"Ha!" he shouts triumphantly. "You know no other can stem the bleeding that ravages your boy, the future emperor."
"And for this, we are so very thankful," Czarina Alexandra assures him nervously.
"If I cannot visit the girls, how am I to tend to their immortal souls?" Rasputin challenges.
A man dressed in a black cape and black trousers approaches Grigory Rasputin. He is short but strongly built and has a twisting scar across his pale face.
That scar...
Nadya is suddenly in the Trans-Siberian train station.
"How do you know these things?" Sergei asked.
"Because she was a girl and I was a girl. But why should I want this girl's life? Tell me!"
"It would be an easy life, a luxurious one," Ivan offered. "Anastasia had the most lavish existence imaginable! And what did it get her? What?" Nadya shouted through her tears. "You tell me why I should do this; for what possible reason should I want this Anastasia's wretched life?"
Overcome with emotion, Nadya couldn't stand to look at them; Sergei gazed at her, incredulous at her outburst, while Ivan had his back turned as though disgusted.
Nadya was seized with an overpowering need to get away from them. With tears clouding her vision, she ran into the forest, pushing aside branches from her path as she went. With no thought to staying on a course or noting her direction, she ran until her foot slipped on a loose rock and flew up, launching her forward.
Nadya is in a voluminous, floor-length white nightgown, padding barefoot down a dark hallway. Her hand is outstretched against the wall for guidance as she heads toward a brilliant beam of light coming from the room at the end of this hall. She stops just short of the light and peers into an ornate, high-ceilinged room of murals and opulent furniture abundantly trimmed in gold.
The king and queen of Russia, Czar Nicholas and Czarina Alexandra, stand in the middle of the room. Nadya has seen their photos many times and recognizes them immediately. She realizes she must be in the Imperial 85 Palace. How did she get in? Why is she in a nightgown?
The czar wears a white military-style jacket with golden braids and epaulets at the shoulders. He has on riding pants and boots, as though he might jump on a horse and ride off into battle at any moment. He has kind eyes. Alexandra is resplendent in a brocade cape lined with ermine fur, worn over a sparkling, full-length mauve gown.
The royal couple speaks to a large, hunched man in a filthy black cloak; he is a vile, ugly creature with a bulbous nose reddened from drinking and long, greasy black hair that clumps into sinewy tendrils. "I will not be dictated to!" he shouts, his tone threatening.
She knows who he is from newspaper photos--Grigory Rasputin! But Rasputin is dead.
All of them are dead. Is she seeing ghosts?
Then she reminds herself that she is in a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.
"We appreciate all you have done for our son, Father Grigory." Czar Nicholas speaks in a conciliatory way. "But I must insist that you keep a proper distance from the girls and their nursemaids from now on. Sura has complained that you come to do prayers with the girls when they are already in their nightgowns. They are not children anymore."
"Sura?" Rasputin questions.
"The girls' nurse," the czarina explains.
"Do you say this as well?" Father Grigory challenges her.
She cowers a little. "I know you are without blame," she says to soothe him, despite her obvious uneasiness, "but you visit the grand duchesses in their bedchambers when they 86 are not dressed to receive company, and it causes talk."
"Let them talk! The name of Grigory Rasputin is known throughout Russia!" he bellows with rapturous grandiosity. "Everywhere, I am known as a holy man and mystic! You have seen my powers for yourself. I shall go back to St. Petersburg if I am not wanted."
"No!" the czarina cries. "You must not!"
"Ha!" he shouts triumphantly. "You know no other can stem the bleeding that ravages your boy, the future emperor."
"And for this, we are so very thankful," Czarina Alexandra assures him nervously.
"If I cannot visit the girls, how am I to tend to their immortal souls?" Rasputin challenges.
A man dressed in a black cape and black trousers approaches Grigory Rasputin. He is short but strongly built and has a twisting scar across his pale face.
That scar...
Nadya is suddenly in the Trans-Siberian train station.
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